


Thoughts

by writingonpostcards



Series: 10k Posts Giveaway [17piesinseptember] [8]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Awkwardness, M/M, Meet-Awkward, Meet-Cute, minor cycling incident
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-25
Updated: 2019-11-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:00:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21557422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingonpostcards/pseuds/writingonpostcards
Summary: Written for my10k posts giveaway on TumblrPrompt: I was hoping for a meet cute with Whiskey and his Lax Bro. Or it could be a meet ugly where Whiskey gets hit by him on a bike in a crosswalk.
Relationships: Connor "Whiskey" Whisk/LAX Bro
Series: 10k Posts Giveaway [17piesinseptember] [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1472468
Comments: 19
Kudos: 139





	Thoughts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [historical_allusions](https://archiveofourown.org/users/historical_allusions/gifts).



Connor has a lot of thoughts. They go so fast sometimes it makes time warp until he’s sure it’s slowed down around him. Like now. He’s looking at the clock outside the engineering block, thinking, how has it only been twenty seconds when I've had three-hundred thoughts since landing on my back on the crosswalk.

Thoughts like, fuck that hurt, and, my muscles will be stiff tomorrow. Also thoughts like, what fucking idiot runs someone over at a crosswalk, and, my backpack is bright orange and very visible.

Then there’s the other thoughts. The ones like, his eyes are so beautiful, and, I’ve never seen lips that pink before.

When the cyclist holds a gloved hand out to Connor, that’s when the thoughts finally slow. He’s not sure he can push himself up. His limbs feel like jello.

“I am so sorry,” the cyclist tells him. “I have no excuse. I was stuck in my head. Stupid, I know.”

The hand still hovers in front of Connor while his brain shoots off new thoughts like, at least he’s remorseful, and, his voice is deeper than I expected, followed by, it’s a nice voice.

Then he registers what the guy said about getting stuck in his head. That, Connor can relate to.

He takes the hand and lets the cyclist pull him up.

“Thanks.” Connor is surprised to find he’s a fraction shorter than the cyclist.  _ Nice eyes, _ his brain tells him.

“Woah. No. Don’t thank me for that,” the guy holds his hands up between them. “I just knocked you over.”

Connor doesn’t try that again. “Your glove is ripped,” he points out instead, nodding to the cyclists’ right hand.

“Aw, fuck.” The guy looks down at his palm. “These were new.”

Connor holds in the ‘sorry’ he thinks automatically. He picks up the guys’ bike for him instead.

“Are you alright?” the guy checks, hands floating around Connor’s body without touching. “Should I, I don’t know, walk you to the nurse's office?”

Connor shakes his head. Compared to a run-in with a defenseman, this wasn’t so bad. His backpack cushioned him. “I’m good. I need to go meet some friends.”

“Right. Okay. Well.” The guy takes the bike from Connor, their hands bumping in the exchange. “I really am sorry.”

Connor watches him ride away, wondering why he’s bothering to watch him ride away, feeling a funny buzzing in his stomach.

-

He’s still processing when he makes it to the table in the library where Ford and Tango are.

“Hiya.” Tango waves a hand full of highlighters.

Ford nods a greeting and pushes her pencil case across the table to him, filled, he knows, with illicit sweets. “You look spooked,” she remarks.

“Yes.” Connor unzips his bag and retrieves his textbook. “I just got run over.”

“What the fuck!” Ford exclaims, causing a nearby student to shush her loudly.

“By a bike. Some guy knocked me over,” Connor clarifies, pulling out his pencil from the front pocket of his backpack. It’s snapped in half.

“Still,” Ford says.

“Is that why your hair looks like that,” Tony gestures.

Connor frowns and lifts a hand to his hair. He tries flattening in. Ford takes pity and bats his hand away to fix it herself.

“There. Back to your model good looks.” She pushes the pencil case closer to him. “So do we need to go prank this dude or something? Was it a hit and run?”

“No. He stopped. Helped me up. He was…” Connor’s brain does the thing again; way too many thoughts for him to grab one as it passes.

“An asshole. Rude. Entitled. Poor rider. Unapologetic,” Tony lists, trying to help Connor hone in on his thoughts. 

“No. The opposite. He was…” His brain suggests ‘helpful’ but by the time Connor opens his mouth to say it, it’s moved on to another option. “Pretty.”

To his friends’ credit, they don’t bat an eye, even though he’s only recently come out to them both.

“That is a fantastic origin story,” Tony says.

“A fantastic  _ meet-cute _ ,” Ford corrects. “Origin stories are for superheroes.”

Connor lets their voices fade into the background, his brain stuck on the thought; he was pretty.

-

They head to the Haus after studying for mandatory team dinner. They’re in the front garden when a voice calls, “Wait up!” 

They don’t use a name, but Connor’s the one to stop and turn around; Ford and Tango keep heading to the front porch.

A guy is jogging over to him.  _ The  _ guy. The one with the pink lips. He’s jogging from the lacrosse house. Connor has a lot of thoughts about that, but mostly, his thoughts are about the way the guy’s hair bounces, catching the sun.

“So.” The guy stops in front of him and rocks back on his feet. “You’re on the hockey team.”

“Yeah.”

“Is that why you didn’t want my help earlier?”

“I didn’t know you played lacrosse until a minute ago,” Connor says truthfully.

“Oh. Right. Um. How’s the back?” 

Connor is surprised this guy is making an effort after learning he’s on the hockey team. “Fine so far.”

The guy laughs awkwardly and runs a hand through his hair. “Shit, sorry I’m being so…” He can’t seem to find the word. “You make me a little nervous.”

“Same,” Connor finds himself saying.

“The lacrosse thing?”

“No. The thoughts I have about you.”

Lacrosse guy tilts his head. “What, uh, kind of thoughts?”

Connor shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter.”

He turns to leave. He knows Eric will take it personally if he’s late. Ford and Tango are waiting for him on the porch.

The lacrosse player grabs his wrist. “Of course it matters. Everyone’s thoughts matter.”

Ford and Tony start back down the steps. He shakes his head at them.

“And what if…" his fingers tighten around Connor’s wrist and Connor’s thoughts quiet, "your thoughts are like mine?” he asks softly. 

Connor turns. The guy’s fingers loosen, grazing the back of Connor’s palm as they drop. 

“What thoughts do you have?”

“Thoughts about getting to know you. Learning your name. Asking you out to dinner. Thoughts about what...what it might be like to kiss you.”

Connor’s brain explodes in a riot of imagery at that.

"My name's Connor."

Lacrosse guy moves a fraction closer to Connor and smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> Subscribe to the series so you don't miss any! They'll also be posted to [tumblr](https://17piesinseptember.tumblr.com/) and [pillowfort.](https://www.pillowfort.social/writingonpostcards)
> 
> Thanks to my beta reader, [notenoughgatorade](http://notenoughgatorade.tumblr.com/).
> 
> I will try to reply to all comments!!


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